


Ask me no questions

by defractum (nyargles)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/defractum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the year, and all Grantaire wants is for his charming, gorgeous, lovely boyfriend to preferably not break up with him. Santa hasn't ever paid Grantaire a visit though, so he suspects he won't start now. </p><p>(Said charming, gorgeous lovely boyfriend just wants Grantaire to feel comfortable inviting him over.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanbanana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanbanana/gifts).



**.December 22nd.**

Last Christmas, it hadn't been so bad. This year, it's... complicated.

Because this year, Grantaire has a boyfriend. Grantaire shudders at the idea of going to visit his family. For one thing, they're halfway across the country and for another, he hasn't spoken to them for three years. They probably think he's still studying business. "No," he says when Enjolras asks after their last official meeting of the year - Les Amis are going to see each other after this, of course, since there's a Christmas party hosted by Joly and Bossuet, an anti-Christmas party hosted by Eponine, and then a New Year's party hosted by Courfeyrac, but they've wrapped up business for the year, since most days not occupied by party plans are penned in as time to go visit family. "It'll be just me, alone, for Christmas Day."

Enjolras looks slightly horrified. "What? No, don't be ridiculous. I'll come over and join you and we can have Christmas lunch together."

"You have to lunch with your parents," says Grantaire gently, knowing how much Enjolras hates the reminder. Unfortunately, he more or less still has to stay in touch with them since they paid for his flat, and his tuition. Grantaire tries not to rankle at that. "I could come with you though?"

Enjolras shudders. "I would not subject you to that for the world," he says, and Grantaire knows that he's stressing out about his father and not thinking about coming over to Grantaire's anymore, and he only feels a slightly bit guilty for that.

"Want me to come over?" asks Grantaire.

"My flat's a mess," says Enjolras apologetically, like Grantaire hasn't been there more days than not this week, and knows exactly what it looks like. "We could go to yours?"

Grantaire snorts. "As if my place would be less tidy than yours. As long as the bed's free, I couldn't care less."

"You only want me for my bed," says Enjolras mournfully.

In all fairness, Enjolras does have a pretty great bed. It's king-sized and Enjolras has soft sheets and lots of pillows, and most of the time the bed comes with an Enjolras. "Yep," says Grantaire. "You're welcome to join me in it though," he says, laughing as Enjolras swats playfully at his arm.

Deflection successful.

**.December 24th.**

'Can you grab me a shirt I left at yours?' texts Grantaire. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and jangles the change until the round bits of metal are warm to the touch.

His phone buzzes with Enjolras' reply. 'Why do you need a new shirt?!'

'I spent the night at Joly and Bossuet's after the Christmas party, and then hung out with them all day.' Enjolras had left the party reasonably early, with apologies, too tired from the overload of work in the last three months to stay up late properly. Grantaire had simply drunk enough to look sleepy, and curled up on the sofa until everyone had left, and Joly had flung a blanket over him and told him to stay the night.

Grantaire feels bad for forcing the offer, but he also knows that his friends don't reeeeaaally mind that he crashed over at theirs. And in truth, he'd rather try for Joly and Bossuet, who have a living room and a sofa, than try Eponine, who has a bedsit that they all cram into.

It started out a bit of a joke, with Eponine grumbling about the practicalities of Christmas for someone who didn't have a lot of spare cash, and Enjolras had suggested that they each buy one small thing for her and they'd decorate out her bedsit together. She had looked at him very seriously, and said, "I will shank you."

So now she's holding the anti-Christmas party instead.

'You couldn't swing by your place and pick one up instead?' texts back Enjolras.

'Out of the way. Also if I don't retrieve a few clothes from yours, I won't have any clothes at my place left.'

Grantaire tucks his phone back into his pocket, where it mingles with the coins, and Grantaire huddled into his coat, starting across the city towards Eponine's. He's going to be late.

*

“You’re late,” calls Courfeyrac as Grantaire stomps his feet in the entranceway. He grimaces - he’s mostly stopped feeling his feet about half an hour ago.

“I’ve got your shirt,” says Enjolras, leaning over the back of the sofa and waving it at him. Grantaire grins, and waves back at him.

Joly turns. “What? I thought you went back to yours to get changed?”

Grantaire freezes. Shit. Too cold to lie. “Yeah, I – out of the way, I realised.” He smiles sheepishly. He takes the shirt, and waves them off to go and get changed.

Eponine raises an eyebrow at him, but he shrugs her off.

**.December 25th.**

“Merry Christmas!” says Enjolras, and he’s trying to sound cheerful, but Grantaire can tell the tension in his voice.

“You too,” says Grantaire. “How’re the parentals?”

“Ugh,” says Enjolras, which is all he will say about it. “Have you opened your presents yet?”

Grantaire puts his phone on speaker. “I just started. Shall I skip to yours? I’ll open it now,” he says. “This is a lot of sellotape, Enjolras. What – oh shit, Enjolras. You shouldn’t have!”

“Do you like it?”

Grantaire peels off the festive wrapping paper and pulls out a new watch. It’s shiny and the face says ‘Holy shit, it’s already ten fucking fifteen motherfucker!’ He laughs, because it’s exactly the perfect blend of useful - his old watch face flickers in and out occasionally and the strap is basically stuck in place - and humorous. It’s perfectly… him. “I –Enjolras, I can’t accept this. It looks way too expensive for a Christmas present.”

“...You don’t like it?” Enjolras sounds strangled.

“No, I – I mean, I do. I just.” Grantaire stalls, hoping that Enjolras will get what he’s trying to say without making him say it.

“You know it doesn’t matter to me how much things cost.”

Grantaire puts the watch down. “I know that. It matters to _me_. I gave you a scarf!”

“You _knitted_ me a scarf.” Enjorlas sounds indignant. “It has mitten-pockets on the end!”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Grantaire sighs. “Enjolras.”

“Please accept it,” says Enjolras quietly, and Grantaire caves.

**.26th December.**

“I missed you,” says Enjolras, and Grantaire’s heart skips a beat because... well, because that’s just ridiculous.

“You’ve been gone a day.”

“And I missed you for the entire day,” says Enjolras and slides his hand into Grantaire’s, and stuffs both their hands into one of the mitten-pockets in the scarf Grantaire gave him, and nuzzles against his cheek.

“Want me to come over and take care of you?” asks Grantaire, half amused and half serious.

“Let’s go to yours,” says Enjolras.

Grantaire squeezes his hand. “Don’t you want to spend a night in a bed of your choosing after your cold and lonely childhood room?”

Enjolras frowns. “And what if I choose your bed?”

Shit.

“Yours is nicer.”

“Well, why don’t you let me decide for myself?” Enjolras slows down, and turns to face Grantaire, his face pinching up; Grantaire’s heart sinks, because that means Enjolras is getting suspicious and he’s spent too long avoiding the subject, and really four months is just about long enough to be dating someone and never get invited over to their place. Four months is also the longest Grantaire’s had a relationship, so... it’s been a good run.

“You’re rich,” says Grantaire, forcing the words out even though he knows they’ll make Enjolras flinch. He does, and Grantaire feels simultaneously victorious and guilty. “You have a spare bedroom and a study, and you know, a kitchen and. Posh stuff. Your place is nicer, trust me.”

Enjolras stares at him, speechless, because Enjolras’ wealth is something they never talk about, partially because Enjolras doesn’t like to, and partially because it’s a bit of a sore point for Grantaire.

“I just - I just. Thanks for the watch. I should go,” he grits out past the growing lump in his throat, pulling his hand out of Enjolras’ warm grip and backing away.

“Grantaire, what? Stop, wait.”

“I’ll see you at Courf’s for New Year’s,” says Grantaire, and hunches his shoulders up against the wind, walking briskly away. He knows the streets better than Enjolras, so he ducks down a side street, and another one, breaking into a jog, doubling around and stopping in a shop doorway for a minute, five, until Enjolras probably won’t be able to follow him. He looks down at his hands, which are shaking and it’s not because they’re cold (he’s used to that).

God. He fucked up.

Grantaire sniffs – something to do with the weather, surely, and not anything to do with the strange prickling in his eyes and the strained feeling in the back of his throat, and starts walking home.


	2. Chapter 2

**.31st December**

Grantaire hasn't seen Enjolras since Boxing Day. Not deliberately - Grantaire doesn't get the luxury of the entire week off so he's been busy picking up extra shifts since everyone else wants the time off, and Enjolras still has to go into the office. (But then again, it's not not-deliberately either, since that's pretty much a normal week for them, but Grantaire's trying not to think about that. Or the half a dozen missed phone calls.)

He considered picking up a New Year's Day shift too, since it'd pay time and a half, but Courf's New Year's Eve party is an immovable tradition. They play Cards Against Humanity. They play truth or dare jenga. They play charades. They drink cheap champagne and turn off all the lights ten seconds before the start of New Year's and then snog random people in the dark. Marius has skipped out on his _grandfather's_ end of year party in favour of Courf's party. Everyone would kill him for having to be all moderate and leaving early.

And honestly, as much as Grantaire is not-really-deliberately avoiding Enjolras, he doesn't really want to miss Courf's New Year's bash, because it's really fucking fun and he loves his friends, and he's not going to let a little bit of relationship troubles get in the way of that.

Well, that's what Grantaire is determined to do right up until he gets there, anyway. Enjolras opens the door wearing the woolly jumper Grantaire had got made for him for Christmas two years ago (he didn't actually knit it, Feuilly did, but Grantaire commissioned it, so it totally counts) and looking cheerful and rumpled and warm. Grantaire doesn't even know how a person can look warm, but Enjolras does.

Enjolras freezes in the doorway, and the happiness just drains out of his face.

"Hey," says Grantaire, stamping his feet against the cold and ignoring the nauseous lurching in his stomach.

"Grantaire."

"Are you going to let me in?" asks Grantaire. They're adults, they can do this. They're both very good at pretending things are fine when they're not.

"I half thought you were going to run away when you saw me," says Enjolras simply, and Grantaire winces, because he supposes he deserves that. But Enjolras does step aside, and stiffly helps him take his coat off and brushes the faintest of kisses against his cheek, so he supposes they're still kind of okay. They still exist, at least. Maybe Enjolras is saving the argument for after the New Year.

Their friends are spread out all over the living room, in various states of fed and drunk, and everyone waves when Grantaire walks in, the tips of his ears tingling from the change in temperature. They shuffle over to make room for him on the floor; he slides in between warm bodies and warmer hearts, and he thinks he can do this.

And, he can. It’s all fine, really, right up until everyone starts talking about what they’re doing _after_ the party. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are heading home – there’s a direct bus from here to theirs – and Combeferre and Jehan have already staked claims on the beds in the flat. Bahorel dibs on the sofa, claiming he’s way too big to fit anywhere else.

“Eh, I’ll take the armchair and the footstool,” says Grantaire, and Enjolras frowns at him.

“You’re staying?”

“Um. Yes?”

Enjolras leans in, and says tentatively, “I thought we could spend New Year’s day together.”

“Oh. Alright.” Grantaire raises his voice. “Never mind, scratch that. I’m heading over to Enjolras’s afters. Marius can take the armchair.”

“Not yours?” asks Enjolras hopefully, and God, it’s like he’s not even bothering to be subtle anymore.

“Nooooope.”

“Why not? Mine’s miles away from here.”

“Stop angling for an invitation, you’re never coming over to mine,” says Grantaire, and he meant it to be a joke, but it comes out more serious than he thought it would.

“Oh,” says Enjolras, peeling away from Grantaire. “Oh. Okay.”

Enjolras gets up and panic wells up in Grantaire’s throat but nothing comes out and he watches in mute horror as Enjolras just walks unsteadily away into the kitchen.

“Shit,” says Grantaire, and sinks his face into his hands before pulling himself to his feet. “Urgh.”

They end up huddled around the fridge in Courfeyrac’s kitchen, both of them under the pretense of getting drinks.

"I just don't see why it's a big deal," says Enjolras and Grantaire can see from the way he blinks just a little too often that he's holding back tears of frustration. And yes, he's sure it does suck to be dating someone for months and never get invited over, but – but. Enjolras should trust Grantaire when he says that Enjolras really doesn't want to be at his.

"It's not," says Grantaire, and damn it, he can already feel himself hunching in on himself, building his defences up around himself. "It's not a big deal so please can you stop talking about it?"

"I don't care if it's small or in a bad part of town or whatever," says Enjolras earnestly, and Grantaire knows he's trying to make it better, but he's really _not_. "I mean, what did you say about mine? As long as there's me and the bed, we don't really need anything else, do we?"

"I don't _have_ a bed," grits out Grantaire.

That takes Enjolras back. He pauses, and then rallies himself. "I don't care. Mattress, futon, whatever. How bad can it be?"

Grantaire lets out an involuntary bark of laughter, barely manages to swallow the next one down. " _How_ – Right, fine. Sure. Let's go over to my place." He gets up, marches out to go grab his coat.

"Right now?" asks Enjolras, startled. He glances at the clock; it's just past eleven, which means the others will be starting on the alcohol and charades soon, starting the countdown to the new year. The streets will be deserted, everyone either already out or tucked inside their houses, watching for the fireworks and festivities soon to go off.

"Yeah," says Grantaire. "You want to see where I live, let's fucking go see where I live. And then we can have fresh fucking starts and all for next year." He's aware he's biting off his words and swearing more than usual, and Enjolras catches his elbow when he rams his arms into his sleeves so roughly he feels the fabric strain.

"Grantaire," says Enjolras gently.

Grantaire pulls away. "Come on," he says brusquely, because he knows as much as Enjolras is concerned about him, he is also far too curious about where Grantaire lives to say no. Grantaire wishes he’d say no.

He steps out into the brisk night air, hears Enjolras quickly saying his farewells and explaining to someone in a low voice so they know where they've gone. He stares up at the cloudless night and lets the wind pull the breath out of his lungs, until he's shivering and gasping and his eyes are watering.

Grantaire starts walking when Enjolras comes out, waiting just long enough for Enjolras to fall in step with him. The buses are running all night since it's New Year's Eve, and he feels Enjolras hesitate when Grantaire walks right past the bus stop. He doesn't actually live that far away, but a fifteen minute walk in the silence of the night, with darkness shrouded around them, feels infinite.

Enjolras holds his hand out at some point, and Grantaire takes it, more relieved at the offer than he wants to admit. Neither of them say anything at how Grantaire's grip gets tighter the longer they walk.

The silence doesn't help quiet his imagination. It's a reasonably nice part of town. There are a lot of young professionals in the area, which is exactly why Grantaire chose it, and he can imagine the observations ricocheting through Enjolras's head. The streets are well-lit, and the houses are large. It's very suburban.

Grantaire stops outside a semi-detatched place, the sort with lace curtains in the window and a tasteful string of lights over the door, twinkling along to a tune of its own. He jerks his head at the door, but makes no move towards it. "There's a nice couple in there," he says, and his voice comes out reasonably steady. "They both commute to work in the city."

Enjolras turns towards him and frowns, probably confused as to why the first thing Grantaire's said since they stepped out is about some random couple.

"So, you know, they both take the underground every day. Not much use for a car, really. They sub-letted me their parking permit."

It takes Enjolras a while to figure out what that means, and he turns almost comically slowly to look at Grantaire with wide eyes. Leaning against the street light, Grantaire shrugs, and points at the car next to them.

“Is this _legal_?” Enjolras blurts out.

Grantaire’s eyebrows disappear into his beanie. “What, being _homeless_?” he says dryly.

“I – sorry. Sorry.”

The car's already frost-rimmed, as it has been for the last few weeks, so it takes Grantaire few tries to pry the passenger side door open for Enjolras. "I've got stuff all over the place," says Grantaire. "I don't exactly get many visitors."

He leaves the door open for Enjolras to climb in – and there really is a lot of stuff in there because that's where he leaves clothes when they're done at the coin laundry – and goes round to the driver's seat so he can delay having to see Enjolras's pitying look, and shoves himself in.

Enjolras sits gingerly on the edge of the seat, Grantaire's stuff squished up against his back and his knees knocking against the glove compartment as Grantaire plonks himself down, and kicks a few food wrappers out of the way. He hasn't actually driven the car in a while.

"Make yourself at home," says Grantaire dryly.

Enjolras looks around in slow motion, taking in the thermos stuffed between the seat and the gear change, the toothbrush and razor in a plastic cup in the cup holder and the car mattress and sleeping bag in the back seat, currently rolled up out of the way so Grantaire can reach into the bags of things on the floor of the back.

The top of the dashboard is mostly used as a fridge in this weather, so there’s a half-pint of milk, some cheese and some ham shoved into the corner. Somewhere under Enjolras’s feet are Grantaire’s smart shoes, not that he gets to wear them much these days but it’s always a good idea to keep a pair around, and the small compartments in the front are stuffed with loose change and coupons torn out from leaflets and magazines.

“I –”

Grantaire waits, lets him reel the words in.

“It’s nice,” says Enjolras weakly. Grantaire just looks at him. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“Jeez, stop apologising. It’s not your fault,” says Grantaire, fishing around for one of those pocket warmer things. He has a lot of those, since it’s not exactly like he has central heating.

Enjolras catches the pocket warmer Grantaire tosses at him, clicking the little metal button to release the heat, and huddles around it. “Grantaire. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Grantaire grimaces. Shrugs. “When you’re trying to seduce a nice guy, you don’t exactly tell him you don’t have a house.”

“I thought you shared a flat with someone.”

“I did. Months ago. The landlord wanted the place back though, so we couldn’t renew our lease and then the guy was an arse and I couldn’t get my security deposit back and without it, I just.” Grantaire shrugs.

“You can –”

“If you’re about to ask me to move in with you, I will break up with you,” says Grantaire. “And hit you. I’m serious. Don’t pull that shit on me, Enjolras.”

Enjolras slumps back. “But –”

Grantaire huffs out a long exhalation of air, which mists up white in front of his nose. “It could be worse. I still have a job, a phone, laptop, bank savings, et cetera. I get post here and everything. I’m just, you know. Between places.”

“Where do you shower, and... stuff?”

“And stuff,” says Grantaire with a snort. In all fairness, trying to maintain a certain amount of hygiene has been one of hardest things. “The gym. I just head in early before my shifts.”

“Who else knows?” asks Enjolras. “Am I the only one who doesn’t?”

“Really, Enjolras? Jealousy at a time like this?” Grantaire sighs. “No one knows.”

“ _No one?!_ ”

Grantaire lifts a shoulder. “Well. I suspect Eponine knows, but she wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t bring it up first.”

Enjolras looks horrified, as if the entire lot of them have collectively failed as friends. “But –”

“I spent five months trying very hard not to let anyone know,” says Grantaire. “So don’t tell them. I don’t need everyone’s guilt trip.”

“But _why_?” asks Enjolras. “We could have helped you! You have a support system, a family. That’s what we’re there for!”

“Yeah, I know. But I didn’t need the help. Seriously, it’s not that bad. So I live in my car, so what?” says Grantaire, his voice rising despite himself. Now he’s started, the words come out easier, things he’s wanted to tell Enjolras, tell everyone, for ages. “I’d be able to pay rent, you know? It’s just, I’m still saving up enough for a security deposit because you’ve got have it up front. I’m getting there.”

Grantaire can practically see Enjolras stopping himself from offering to lend Grantaire the money for a security deposit right there and then.

“A lot of people have it a lot worse. I have friends with sofas I can crash with sometimes. I have a boyfriend I spend a couple of nights a week with. You know, if I actually still _have_ said boyfriend after this. That’s help enough,” says Grantaire quietly. “I can do the rest myself.”

Enjolras swallows. “‘Course you do,” he says thickly, holding out a hand. “Like you could keep me away.” Grantaire slides his fingers through Enjolras’s gratefully, even if Enjolras’s fingers are like fucking ice right now; the relief itself is enough to keep him delusionally warm.

“I’m a strong independent woman who don’t need no man,” says Grantaire, lips twitching into a grin despite himself as he nudges Enjolras with a shoulder. The tension cracks and dissolves entirely as Enjolras snorts involuntarily, and then laughs.

“Come here,” says Enjolras, pushing up the armrest and wriggling over towards Grantaire’s seat, letting Grantaire slide his arms around Enjolras’s waist. “You _will_ say something, won’t you? If you _really do_ –”

“Yeah, of course,” says Grantaire, meeting Enjolras halfway on a sloppy, desperate kiss that’s more a graze of chapped lips and a clack of teeth than anything else and ends up with them nuzzling each other with the cold tips of their noses.

“Does the car still have fuel?” asks Enjolras.

Grantaire hums thoughtfully. “I think so? I haven’t taken it anywhere in a while though.”

It does, but it also takes the poor car a few minutes to start up, not having been asked to do that for a few months and especially not in this weather. Then it takes even longer for the heating to warm up, both of them valiantly not commenting on the chill wind they blast through the car for the first few minutes, until enough of the frost has melted that Grantaire can scrape the rest off the windscreen.

“Come to mine,” says Enjolras.

Grantaire’s hands falter and Enjolras must see it, because he quickly adds, “Not to – I mean, you can park in my space in the complex.”

And oh, Enjolras is very good. The carpark at Enjolras’s posh block of flats is indoors, which means it’s better insulated, and there’s better security. He won’t have to worry about frost or snow, or even rain. Grantaire tries to breathe through the rising tide of his pride.

“You just can pop up to mine to shower instead,” says Enjolras, far too casually to actually be casual.

Grantaire ducks his head and groans. “Yeah, alright. I get the point. You’ve convinced me. You do have great water pressure.”

“And occasionally, I’m in it,” says Enjolras.

“Just what I’ve always wanted. A free naked man in the shower,” says Grantaire with a small smile, leaning over to brush his hand through Enjolras’s hair, not entirely sure how else to say thank you.

Bursts of colour explode across the dark night sky, startling both of them so much that Enjolras grabs at Grantaire’s arm, and Grantaire stamps on the accelerator and stalls the car. They exhale giddy giggles of laughter as the fireworks continue from somewhere the other side of the river, enormous pops of red and yellow, fading into fizzing streams of purple that hang weightless in the sky for just a moment before fading away.

“Happy New Year,” says Enjolras.

“Happy New Year,” says Grantaire, and brushes a soft kiss across his lips. “And here’s to another.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dear hanbanana,
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Apologies that it's so atrociously late D: D:


End file.
